


Where there's smoke, there is fire.

by rodrigraphics



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8719993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rodrigraphics/pseuds/rodrigraphics
Summary: a brief encounter, memorable but more likely forgettable. Possibly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> debating whether to make this into a small series to experiment with my sosu more, and work w an npc character as the protagonist.   
> we'll see. appreciate any insight / interest !

Two hands shuffling the cards, worn and calloused. Knuckles wrinkled with time, bruised, cut. Working hands.  
Strong, yet with tender touch. 

 

A shuffle of boots against the dirt startled him.   
One card thrown into the fire, the edges coiling and turning black ; the image becoming distorted. 

 

The fire between them snapped, the ashes of the wood burning bright. The heat prickling sweat onto his forehead. He hadn’t expected the company tonight, nor was he sure if he wanted it. He knew he should be thankful to not be alone, the pipe pistol in his bag could hardly protect him against a simple snarling dog. He could hardly aim the thing anyways, hands shaking every time he held it up. Nerve striking through his muscles at the thought of danger.

Always a lover, never a fighter. Or just, someone passive and never active.

The glow of the laser musket, the silent whirl a comforting white noise. He had recently heard of the Minutemen reorganizing and making a comeback. But his company didn’t fit the image. A bit rougher, but more simplistic in their style. Carrying themselves like a cautious coyote, always on prowl. 

“We never introduced ourselves.” His company flicking yet another card to burn into ashes, a glance of eye contact he was too nervous to meet.

“Oh—it’s Kitt, I mean I’m Kitt.”

“Just Kitt ?”

“No, no sorry. Kitt Trujillo, no middle name. My mother was never fond of them. Too long she’d always say, just two initials is enough.”   
He was saying too much, sharing too much. Always a disaster when talking, each word, each rambling line, felt like his brain would cave in at any second. 

 

He flicked his finger against his thumb, a nervous tick he inherited from his father, always to pair with an awkward smile.

 

“Well, always glad to meet friendly people out here. Most know me as Everett Rivera.”

 

Most never shook hands when meeting in the Commonwealth, at least as far as he knew. Perhaps Everett was not most. Their handshake firm enough to leave an ache in his wrist. But the courtesy and sincerity behind it could easily be felt. He rubbed at his wrist gently, taking an opportune glance at the pip-boy on Everett’s wrist, radiating it’s green light against the fire’s overpowering red. 

Almost complementing the mesh of green and brown of Everett’s hazel eyes. 

His eyes returned to the fire.

It was late, not aware of the exact time, but the dark enveloping sea of the stars told him enough. Just this night, he wouldn’t be alone. By the morning, he’d be back to just himself, and he would forget this stranger he met. He would forget Everett, and he would keep walking towards his destination. Which he didn’t even know.

He laid back against his sleeping bag, debated whether or not to say good night. If it was even a meaningful thing to say to someone he’d barely met and never see again. No, he would turn away and forget. 

Like he always does.


End file.
